P-I In France: Lance's place in Pyrenees a lovely climb

Published 10:00 pm, Monday, July 21, 2003

The past two Tour de France races, each roughly 2,000 miles long, were decided within 10 miles of each other in the Parc National Des Pyrenees.

Will it be three?

My son Joe and I are staying in a hotel in Saint Lary Soulan, where Lance Armstrong took yellow in 2001. Over the ridge is La Mongie, where he put his yellow jersey out of reach in 2002. And a bump over from that is Bagneres-de-Bigorre, where Armstrong yesterday leveled one challenger and gave himself breathing space over the other.

At 8 a.m. at the newspaper shop across from the hotel, 20 men waited to pay for their copies of L'Equipe and La Depeche.

Over a huge picture of Alexandre Vinokourov riding through a mob the day before to close within 18 seconds of Armstrong, the headline translated as "WE CAN LOSE OUR HEAD OVER THIS!!"

"C'EST GEANT" crowed Depeche.

L'Equipe dedicated 10 action-packed pages to the Tour, introduced with "The Suspense of the Century."

L'Equipe's circulation this week will exceed 600,000.

Climbing on course

Joe and I left for the Col d'Aspin, the day's first big climb, at 1 p.m., riding down the valley through 10 distinct villages such as Guchen and Bazas and Cadiac.

We crossed a bridge above a whitewater camp where kayaks and rafts could be rented for about the same as an aluminum racing bike: $18.

By the time we reached Arreau, the race course was lined a dozen deep, but we ducked in behind a photographer's motorcycle and popped on to the course.

"No, No!" shouted the gendarme.

But after he saw our press badges, he apologized. "Pardon moi, messiuer!"

Climbing the mountain course was easy, especially being urged on by Tour fans, most of whom wore orange and waved Basque flags.

Their frustrated nationalism vents at the Tour behind the Basque team, Euskatel.

Because of my Bianchi jersey, they called out "Ullrich, Venga, Venga, Venga."

Not wishing to be misunderstood, I tapped the top of my red, white and blue helmet and said, "No, Armstrong."

After climbing 1,500 feet, we had to pull over. The first racers were catching up to us.

We had stopped near a meadow with four blue helicopters. Some Coca-Cola VIPs had flown in. The company paid $1 million this year to plaster its name around the Tour, but an executive said that was about to end.

A red Alfa went by with tour director Jean Marie LeBlanc in the back seat. And then came two cyclists, 10 minutes ahead of the pack.

U.S. Postal Service led the pack. Armstrong was near the back, talking to a teammate as if it were a church social. Kindling temperature was a long ways off.

After they passed, the Coke people ran for their helicopter in search of another vantage point.

And the crowd walked back down the mountain, filling the road. Old and young. Children and grandmothers.

Spying a village in the valley, we rode down to it, brakes squealing, in search of coffee and a sandwich.

It was the first Aspin. It had a church, water fountain, and a couple of dozen dwellings. It also had a creek running through it.

Back at the bottom in Arreau, every bar, cafe and television was surrounded by cyclists. So we turned up the valley and raced back to St. Lary until our legs ached.

We watched minute-by-minute coverage of perhaps the most incredible stage of the most incredible Tour.